


Harmony in the Dark Woods

by lauraistheone (2goo)



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Other, Poetry, Possible Spoilers for the show, References to Canon, References to Drugs, Spoilers for The Final Dossier, WONDERFULXSTRANGE, and Julee Cruise songs, for all ten of you who think about the haywards as much as i do, how harriet learned to stop worrying and love the log, some references to other Lynch films, with a small divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 12:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20506979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2goo/pseuds/lauraistheone
Summary: The year is 1996 and Harriet Hayward is enjoying her life at Washington University when she has a strange dream that hints at an unknown connection. When traveling back to visit her sick mother in Twin Peaks, she finds the state of her family in complete disarray and must come to terms with the consequences of these discoveries.





	1. Owl Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beatrice_Sank](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Sank/gifts).

_September 8, 1996 _

_Dear diary,_

_ It is 2:53am at my time of writing this, and I have just experienced what is likely the most vivid dream of my life. The significance of this is not lost on me; since a young age, I’ve never been much of a dreamer. Therefore, I can’t risk the possibility of forgetting it, so I will recount the experience here. After tonight, I don’t think I like owls as much as I used to._

_ I was appearing out of the fog that preludes sleep, and I remember walking the path of an oppressive forest. It was as if I was physically _there._ The forest had that thick, densely scented kind of air that hangs in your nose long after you’ve made contact with it. So I continued walking this path, eyes forward, one foot in front of the other straight ahead. I didn’t want to look behind me, because I thought I might see someone or something following me. There was the lingering fear throughout that I was being watched somehow. Eyes hidden in the darkness surrounding me._

_ I refused to turn around or stop walking until I came upon a cabin in the middle of the woods. Immediately, I could see it was up in flames— I didn’t notice or even see the light of the flames until I had come up close to it. By then, the wood on it already looked like a burnt marshmallow. Any inhibitions I had paid no mind to this fact. There was an alluring vibration to the flames. The air was morphing my surroundings in a wayward, zigzag pattern. Something was pushing me toward that door, and ultimately I decided to enter the burning cabin. _

_Now this is where things get strange...and it scares me to think that my subconscious could conjure images so vividly unsettling. Upon entering the cabin, I noticed that the fire hadn’t burned any of the interior. It was just one empty, spacious room. The walls still reverberated with the hum of burning wood, and the heat still drowned all my other senses, but I could no longer feel the fire licking at my feet. The room was simply untouched. A momentary relief. _

_Then, at the very end of the room, who else stood before me but my very own sister? She was looking right at me with a big smile on her face. She wore an oversized orange sweater over a long skirt with saddle shoes on. A signature style of her own making. I called out to her, “Donna!” and she leaned forward, arms open, inviting me to run up and hug her! My dear sister, in the flesh! Glowing radiantly in my dreams! Her smile, brighter than the fire that surrounded us. I miss her. God, I miss her. I was so happy that I think I allowed myself to be tricked. The second I broke from her embrace, I saw the unwelcome eyes of a stranger. A perversion of my sweet sister. The imposter looked exactly like her in every way, except up close I could see the difference in the eyes. She had the big, uncanny eyes of an owl. The fiery orange eyes of an _owl_ that matched her sweater. I felt a chill in the heat. _

_I think the thing caught on to my realization, because after that, it made no pretense about being a fake look-alike of my sister. It didn’t move like her anymore. The smile disappeared. All I could do was stand there, paralyzed, as it stared at me with unblinking eyes. Holding my gaze, it violently began to morph my sister’s arms into feathered wings, continuing on with a metamorphosis of her entire body into that of a Great Horned Owl. The eyes never changed. It was the most awful thing I’ve ever seen— I felt like sobbing, but neither my body nor face could move. I was standing with my feet permanently planted to the floorboards of the burning cabin, my eyes locked on the giant owl creature. _

_Next thing I know, it began to speak. But it had a strange and deeply inhuman voice, like it was speaking backwards. I didn’t recognize the voice as someone I knew. “LISTEN TO THE WIND…” It said. If this was a command, I wasn’t taking any chances. I listened for the creature...and, faintly, I could hear footsteps out in the woods. Then, the sound of a small child crying. The fire still hummed outside the cabin and made light dance in the small room. Over and over, the cries of loneliness filled my ears, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt like I needed to find this child and help them return home. The owl didn’t show any emotion, it just kept that far-off look in its eye. It spoke again: “SEE THAT WINDOW OVER THERE?” Slowly, the giant owl creature lifted one wing to the left of me, signalling the presence of a window on the side of the cabin. I don’t think it was there before, but maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention. At long last, I felt like I could move, so I ran to the window and peered outside. _

_The flames outside the cabin did little to illuminate the darkness of the woods. The only thing I could see was the faint silhouette of a small child, a little girl. She looked lost and afraid. For a moment, I imagined she was my other dear sister, Gersten. She couldn’t have been older than 5 or 6. My big-sister-senses took over me. I began to beat on the window, yelling as loud as I could to get the girl to notice me. I was just pounding, and pounding, and nothing seemed to work. The owl stood by in stoic indifference. After awhile, the dream began to feel like it was happening in slow motion, countless agonizing minutes going by. Was my psyche trying to torture me? _

_The last few moments of this dream scared the living daylights out of me. I was beating on the window still, when I saw a second-long flash of blue light illuminate the forest. I saw the little girl standing in front of a huge pit of what looked to be oil, surrounded by dead-looking sycamore trees. I already knew— Glastonbury Grove! It couldn’t have been any other forest in Washington than Ghostwood, in my very own hometown of Twin Peaks. I became more desperate at this realization, to the point of breaking the window with my bare fists. I was ready to make my escape, when I felt the giant claw of a bird rest at my back. “SHE STAYS.” I heard the creature say. And no one in the whole wide world will ever believe me, Diary. When I turned around... I saw the ghost that is the long-gone _Laura Palmer!_ We both screamed! And that, Diary, is all I want to say for now! I awoke after that, but I still feel like something came back from my dream with me...I don’t know. Maybe it was just a scary dream and I’m being paranoid. I just know it’s going to bother me now. I can’t get myself to stop thinking about it. _

_Signing out, Harriet_


	2. Strange Times

_September 8, 1996_

_Dear Diary,_

_ I couldn’t go back to sleep last night. I just stared at the ceiling for about 4 hours. I noticed that if you stare long enough, the only thing that feels real is your room and the world outside doesn’t seem real at all. This gave me the time to think of this poem:_

_ Black_

_ I’m spinning_

_ from earth_

_ up and down_

_ in slates of gray_

_ turn to white_

_ become light_

_left to right_

_ back to my planet_

_ I’m turning_

_Blue_

_ I know it could use some work. Gimme a break. _

_Signing out, Harriet _

Harriet closed her diary and spent the rest of the day trying to distract herself from the unsettling dream. The advent of this dream had come at a strange time in her life. About a week ago, Harriet had gotten a call from home asking if she could leave school to visit her mother, who was very sick. Her father said it was pneumonia. She was already making preparations to come home when she had the terrible dream, and if Harriet was being honest with herself, she wasn’t excited to be going back. Even after not seeing them for the whole year. Even after spending her summer abroad in Italy. It didn’t matter because she was _going_ places. Her future was moving along and falling into place. She dived headfirst into her studies at Washington University and had a quiet roommate and a blossoming romance with a girl in her poetry course. She knew that she wanted to go into medicine like her father and become a pediatrician. Just not in Twin Peaks.

The Hayward clan had somewhat of a falling out years prior when Donna had failed to come home for Christmas after completing her first college semester. Since that time, Harriet and her younger sister Gersten had only gotten bits and pieces from Donna about how her life was going. It was unclear what had changed. Only their parents knew, and Donna hadn’t talked to them since 1992. That was the root that stemmed the family drama to follow.

Besides, Twin Peaks had only gotten creepier since she left. After Laura Palmer disappeared, it was sufficient to say that nobody in the town ever really felt _safe_ again. At least not the kids who were old enough to remember. And Harriet remembered it all. There were many nights when Donna would cry in her sleep and claim to see visions of Laura. It was a terrible, unforgettable time that most people, Harriet included, preferred to forget.

***

By the time Harriet had finished packing, she flopped on the floor of her dorm. She was so tired by the end of it all, that she felt like dozing off. Sleeping hadn’t seemed like a comfort since the other night, and she was still in the process of deciphering her dream. Being the poetic type, Harriet always had a fascination with symbols, especially in dreams. They were like a story you told yourself without having to think about it. Symbols were made to be decoded. Details meant more in hindsight. _It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important,_ thought Harriet, remembering the words of Sherlock Holmes. Usually when she dreamed, Harriet could only remember a black haze. It seemed supernaturally unlikely that she would have a vision like the one last night, and a terribly wicked one at that.

While continuing to wait for the right time to catch her cab, Harriet anxiously played footsie with one of her drawers, pushing it back and forth, all while lying on the floor. She reread last night’s diary entry and only became more restless. There was no stopping it now. She was really going back home, and her mother was ill. Nothing would be the same, and she knew that. It seemed as if things hadn’t been normal for quite awhile.

Harriet wanted to make sure she did one thing before leaving, if only just to try it. Keeping things to herself only made her feel worse.

Standing upright, Harriet dizzily found the red telephone on her nightstand and began to dial. She sat on her bed and bounced her knee, waiting in anticipation to hear a voice she knew all too well.

“Hello?”

“Hey Donna, it’s me!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Donna. There was someone with her that Harriet could distantly hear on the other line. “I’d love to chat and catch up, but I don’t think this is a good time.”

“Wait!” Harriet was afraid of coming off as too desperate. She knew her sister had bigger and better things to do.

Donna had ended up quitting college after her first year because she had gotten a modeling contract. While she was proud of her sister for being able to make it into such a competitive industry, Harriet wasn’t sure how much their parents knew about it. She wouldn’t dare be the one to tell. Donna would talk to her sisters about anything but change the subject if their parents came up. She never wanted to talk about them.

“I just need to hear what you think of something.” said Harriet.

There was a moment of hesitation on the other line. “Okay…”

“See, I had this weird dream last night, and you were in it—well, it was you, but it wasn’t _you_ if you know what I mean—“

“Harriet, where is this going? I’m really busy.”

“Just wait!” Harriet was growing annoyed with Donna’s impatient interruptions.

“You were an _owl!_ And—and—uh…”

_“Harriet.” _

“Do you remember Laura Palmer?” It seemed like a mistake to ask. _Of course she remembered. Idiot. Idiot. _

Donna sounded restrained when she said, _“What_ kind of question is that, Harriet?” An insurmountable sadness followed with any utterance of that name. Harriet felt like she had picked at an open wound. Donna continued more desperately, _“Why_ are you bothering me with this?”

Harriet gulped. “She was in my dream. At the end. She looked slightly older, and…” She paused, “I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure out what it means.”

Harriet heard Donna talk to someone away from the phone for a moment. There was an audible sigh when she picked back up.

“Look,” said Donna, “I don’t want to talk about that. I know. I still have dreams about her too.” Her voice slowly rose in anger. “But what makes you think I _want_ to talk about that with _you?_ She died—**_disappeared_** YEARS ago. You’re unbelievable, Harriet! I can’t believe you would call me for _this!” _

Tears rolled silently down Harriet’s face. She just let her nose run because she didn’t want Donna to hear her sniffling. It wasn’t _her_ trauma that she had just casually brought up in conversation. It was stupid of her.

“I’m sorry…” Harriet cried wordlessly. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Donna didn’t speak for a while before saying, “No…no. _I’m_ sorry. For raising my voice. Just...don’t call me about that stuff, okay?”

“Okay.” Harriet wiped her tears with her sweater sleeve.

“Be happy. You got out of that town,” explained Donna, “It’s a big world out there. You’re gonna love it.”

“I'm going back to see Mom, actually. Pretty soon here.” Harriet stared at her alarm clock. She tried to convince herself that her family wasn’t falling apart.

Donna was quiet again. “Oh,” she said, “Well give Gersten a hug for me.”

“I will.”

“Goodbye, Harriet.”

“I miss you.”

“I know...I gotta go. Bye.”

Harriet waited for Donna to hang up before she put the phone down. It was about time for her to go home.


	3. 00011010

_RECIEVE THE MESSAGE:_

Two mountains. Two “twin” peaks. White Tail Mountain and Blue Pine Mountain. Anybody familiar with the area knows they are rounding the corner towards Twin Peaks when they see these two majestic landmarks. Together they become one. The watchers of Twin Peaks and its residents. They have seen every life that has passed through these parts. They have watched the young grow old. From these mountains, it is said that Twin Peaks got its mystery. Under these two married souls lays the Ghostwood Forest. The blood of Twin Peaks. Hidden inside is Glastonbury Grove. The heart of Twin Peaks.

Nature is mysterious. Remember your favorite tree. It grows fuller, greener, and taller each time you see it, but you do not notice it growing. Trees are like people. Our friends are different people with different experiences every time we see them, but we do not notice. We tell them, “Don’t ever change.” But they have. And they will.

Do not be alarmed. It is good to grow. If we are not growing, we are dying. There is some beauty in death. It was a privilege to grow. Now we die, but there are things still growing around us. Notice both the growing and the dying. I like trees. I like stumps too. I find them when I walk through the forest. It is ever-changing.


	4. Aging Furniture

Harriet longingly stared at the road behind her as her cab passed the “Welcome to Twin Peaks” sign. Looming above the trees she saw White Tail and Blue Pine mountain. It was past the point of return. She was far from the days when town felt welcome. Then again, it could be worse. She _could_ have been gone without so much as a phone call home for 5 years like Donna. Things just felt so different now. Everyone that she ever needed to talk to just went to school with her and it was no big deal. Harriet daydreamed of having a job she liked, close friends, a wife. She had made her peace with the past.

Even though she was doing this for Mom, Harriet knew her Dad was lonely too. Anybody could see that Donna’s absence from the house was an absolute loss. Her parents cherished her presence so much, Harriet sometimes felt jealous of Donna. They always treated her very special, very fragile. Like an angel. She couldn’t be too upset about it though. After all, she lost Donna too.

“We’re here, miss.” The voice of the cab driver knocked Harriet out of her daze. They had already passed the Twin Peaks Sheriff Station and Big Ed’s Gas Farm and she hadn’t noticed any of it. They were already outside her house.

Memories of that house flowed to Harriet like an easy autumn breeze. Only this time she was alone, and her mother was sick. The circumstances that brought her here were not at all pleasant.

After retrieving her luggage, Harriet waved a “Thank you” to the cab driver and watched the car leave until it completely disappeared. She was left abandoned on her front lawn, the lawn she had ran around on and grew up loving. Seeing her home like this was almost too much to bear.

She spun at the sound of an old door creaking open. Her father, Will Hayward, smiled at her. “Y’know it’s the strangest thing… I was just making dinner when I saw the most beautiful young woman standing on my front lawn.”

Harriet couldn’t help but smile back. “Hi, Dad.”

“Come inside, I’m making grilled cheese and tomato soup.” Harriet dragged her luggage along the grass and followed her father inside the house. Nothing seemed to have changed within the house’s appearance since she last visited. The same old carpet, the large grand piano, and the green couch in the living room. There was something kind of intimate about family furniture, growing old with it. Certain items in the home were purely a comfort out of habit.

“I missed you, sweetheart.” her father said as he returned to the kitchen. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright. A lot of work I guess.” replied Harriet, absentmindedly if not a little dazed. She was still reeling from the fact that she was in Twin Peaks again. An anxiety was crawling upon her that wasn’t there before. She was in proximity of where her disturbing dream took place, and could almost feel the vibrations in the air again. If she stepped into the forest tonight, would she see the burning cabin? It made her wonder.

“Good, good.” Mr. Hayward flopped a slightly-burnt grilled cheese onto a plate and set it down on the dinner table for Harriet. “Come, sit down, dear.”

“Any soup?” he asked.

“No thanks.” she said as she dropped her luggage and sat down.

The way Harriet’s father was looking at her, he seemed to be holding up alright. He still had that friendly glow to his face, just more tired. Anybody who knew him could tell you that his presence was always warm, even if something was wrong. He could get angry, but it was that fierce, caring kind of anger. The man loved hard. With his whole being and soul.

Harriet and her father always had a special relationship. Harriet remembered going on nature walks with him, and they would always eat sunflower seeds and corn chips. She didn’t really like fishing, but she was the only daughter of his who would go with him if he asked. The lake was a quiet and serene environment that allowed her to write better poetry. Inspiration came easier that way, and she thought it gave her dad time to think. Harriet once heard Sheriff Truman say that fishing humbles a man. All the men in Twin Peaks fished. Maybe that’s why they all seemed like the quiet type. She couldn’t say the same about the men in Seattle.

“So,” said Mr. Hayward, “It’s good to have you back, kiddo. You missed a lot while you were away.”

“I’ll bet. It was quite a busy year for me.” Harriet munched on the burnt grilled cheese. “How’s Mom holding up?”

Mr. Hayward started making another grilled cheese on the stove. He had a weary look on his face. “We think she’ll be fine. You know your mother is sick a lot.” he said. “But it’s been hard these past few weeks. She’s tired everyday and gets irritable, you know. It happens.”

Harriet’s mother, Eileen Hayward, was involved in a car accident years before Harriet was born and ended up bound to a wheelchair. She never let other people treat her like she was helpless, and the Hayward sisters were fierce defenders when it came to any schoolyard taunts about the subject. Mrs. Hayward liked to say that if not for the accident, she wouldn’t be the person she is today, and wouldn’t have the same loving family she did now. It was unfortunate then, that she was always so prone to illness and therefore forced to be treated a way she hated. As a doctor himself, Mr. Hayward was always very careful in how he treated her, although sometimes Mrs. Hayward’s stubbornness to ask for help got the better of him. Then they would really have to hash it out. As long as it was still that fierce, caring Hayward anger, their fights never negated their love for one another.

“Hey, where’s Gersten, by the way?” Harriet felt like she’d forgotten all about her. They called each other a few times since she left for college. Not so much within the last year. Harriet didn’t mind, seeing as how Gersten was probably busy with school too. The kid was a genius. She went to _Stanford,_ for cripe’s sake.

Gersten kept things vague between them, so Harriet didn’t know much about her life at the moment except that college didn’t work out. Gersten had told her that the Ivy League colleges just overwhelmed her too much and that she didn’t know when she would be going back to school. That was the last conversation they had.

“Oh, she’s just at that age, you know,” Mr. Hayward shrugged, “She told me she’s going to the Double R with friends.”

“Oh, okay.” Harriet finished the last of her grilled cheese.

“Did you talk to Donna at all?”

Oh no...Harriet knew this game all too well. Because Donna had decided to cut all ties with their parents, her mom and dad would often try to coax information from her or Gersten to find out what Donna was doing. Donna was always very firm about how much she didn’t want any contact with their parents. If you asked why, she wouldn’t tell you. Donna could be very frustrating at times.

“Uh...yeah. A little.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing, she didn’t want to talk.” That was the truth.

“Nothing, huh.”

Harriet’s father let out a sigh. He had played this game many times and was getting too old for it. He attempted to hide the sadness in his expression. Dads tend to trade sadness for anger. Harriet was feeling angry herself. It was stupid to her that Donna had rejected all manner of communication and understanding and had suddenly decided that she hated her parents. And yet, Harriet struggled to understand what could possibly be so bad to make Donna act so childish. Donna was never so irrational. Something wasn’t right.

“Well, I better let your mother see you.” Mr. Hayward smiled wearily. “As much as I’d love to have you all to myself.”

“Please, you say that to _all_ your daughters.” joked Harriet. Seeing the genuine smile reappear on her dad’s face reassured her a bit. Some things in Twin Peaks never changed.

“Wait, sweetheart,” Mr. Hayward handed a tray with a plate of grilled cheese and a bowl of tomato soup to Harriet. “Give this to your mother. I think she’s awake now.”

***

Carefully, Harriet carried the tray to her parent’s bedroom. The door was open just a crack. She overheard muffled coughing and the sound of a page turning in a book.

“Hey, Mom…” Harriet nudged the door open with her back and saw her mother before her, pale, wearing a thin pair of reading glasses. Boney hands poked out from the sleeves of a blue cotton nightgown. Her apple-shaped face now looked more gaunt. A tad more tired. Both her parents looked so tired. Mrs. Hayward still smiled warmly, like Harriet’s father.

“It’s so good to see you, Harriet.” Mrs. Hayward smiled wide, leaving little wrinkles around her lips. She opened her arms wide for Harriet to hug her. Harriet set the tray of food down on the nightstand, next to the lamp dimly illuminating her mother’s face. Mother and daughter embraced.

“You too, Mom.” said Harriet. “Dad tells me that I’ve missed a lot over this past year.” Guilt crept over her. “Sorry I didn’t call much.” She added.

Mrs. Hayward wore a pensive expression. Emotions came more easily to Harriet’s father, passionately and expressly. Her mother tended towards the quiet.

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” said Mrs. Hayward after a moment. “How are you?"

“I’m fine.” Truthfully, she was still thinking about the dream. Still running on empty. “I should be asking _you_ that question.”

Her mother hand-waved the remark and shook her head. “I’ve answered that too many times. Let’s talk about something interesting.” She put her hand over Harriet’s, softly squeezing her wrist. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Admittedly, she _had_ been wanting to talk about the dream. Donna wasn’t as much help as she was hoping for.

“Well,” said Harriet, “I had a strange dream last night. It was _confusing,_ and I was scared,” she explained. Her mother was now holding her hand. Though she was sick, Mrs. Hayward looked like a beautifully sad painting. “I was walking in the forest, the one in Twin Peaks. And I came upon this burning cabin. Just completely in flames. But I was drawn to it somehow…” Her mother watched her intently as she recalled the events. “Anyway, it was weird. There was a little girl crying and I couldn’t— I couldn’t help her.” Harriet felt something well up deep inside her throat.

“And—I saw Donna,” She continued, her voice breaking. Mrs. Hayward’s eyes began to look glassy, but something about them remained impenetrable.

“She was like I remembered her. When we were all best friends and nobody felt old or sad...” A sob escaped her, she was shaking. Harriet felt her mother’s thin hand wrap tightly around hers, pulling her to her mother’s side.

“And now she’s disappeared, just like Laura Palmer. She’s making us feel how she felt,” Harriet cried softly, “And sometimes it feels like it’s on purpose! It’s not fair!”

Mrs. Hayward wiped at her daughter’s tears. She looked taken aback. If she ever had a problem as a child, Harriet would use poetry to cope with it. It wasn't normal for her to cry out like this. As sisters, they were shining examples of the best traits a girl could have. Donna was graceful, beautiful, and generous. Gersten was intelligent, spontaneous, and full of life. Harriet was quiet, witty, and seemed, remarkably, unfazed by any troubles. Or so it would appear. As a mother, Eileen, too, felt guilty. Mother and daughter wept over the collective sadness of it all. There was an underlying strangeness felt within the two of them, the strangeness of having a living family member mourned like she was long dead. It wasn’t right.

“I know you miss her, Mom.” said Harriet quietly. “You and Dad. I don’t understand what happened between you guys.”

Mrs. Hayward looked sadly into her daughter’s eyes, forcing a smile. She said calmly, “Your father and I know what happened. Someday, you’ll know too.” Harriet looked down at her hands, blinking back tears. “Harriet, look at me,” Her mother cupped her face gently, “I can’t tell you about it now. I can only ask of you one thing.” Mrs. Hayward took a deep breath.

“Please, don’t hate your sister. I _love_ her. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I love her. I forgive her.”

Harriet whispered, “Okay…” For a few minutes, Mrs. Hayward held her daughter like she was little again. She owed it to her.

Harriet squirmed at the uncertainty of her mother’s own moral goodness. Whatever the spat was about, her mother had assured her that Donna had a good reason to be angry, spiteful even. It still unnerved her.

“Alright, enough crying.” said Mrs. Hayward after a few minutes, “I should eat this before it gets cold.” She took the tray from the nightstand and ate a bite of grilled cheese. It was slightly burnt like the one Harriet had eaten.

“Now, as much as I appreciate your father whipping this up, I got a little favor for you,” she said, finishing a bite.

“Anything, Mom.”

“You know what I’m absolutely craving?”

“What’s that?”

“A fresh slice of Norma’s famous cherry pie. I haven’t had one in forever. Would you go down to the RR and get one for me?”

Harriet hadn’t planned on doing much around town. So far, taking trips down memory lane only made her upset. If she went, she would want to get there as fast as possible and leave as quickly as she came. As tempted as she was to turn down the request, she couldn’t say no to her mother, especially after what had just happened.

“Sure thing, Mom.”

“Give Gersten a big hug if you see her. I know she said she was going there today.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Harriet felt like climbing in bed next to her mother. She didn’t want to see anyone. Much less, people she knew. Her dream still weighed heavily on her mind and seeing her family again overwhelmed her. But she held her breath. Her mother deserved this small happiness, so she pushed herself forward.

After strapping her purse across her body and slipping her jacket over her sweater, Harriet’s father waved her out the door. She borrowed one of her old bikes from the garage and passively felt like running into traffic. The talk with her mother had done little to ease her sadness. People grew old. People changed. People died and left this world with nothing but radio silence. Being in Twin Peaks felt like drowning in the past. The anxiety about the unknown lingered. Harriet feared what she might find out there. It was a small town but it was a great big world. She didn’t care to know it.


	5. Love's Gone

Lucky for Harriet, the Double R Diner wasn’t far from her neighborhood. She kept her head down most of the way, although in hindsight she worried that might’ve made her more noticeable to the public. It was like a fever dream. There she was, twenty years old and riding down to the RR like she was a kid again. In a town like this, very few places were welcome for teenagers to hang out. Norma was one of the few who was always friendly to them. But that’s the thing. Everybody hung out at the diner, which only made Harriet all the more nervous.

After parking her bike, Harriet started walking towards the doors. She froze at the pearly gates to Norma’s heavenly pies. Deep breaths. It was a tough break being in the public of her hometown. She was bound to see someone here. Just when Harriet finally swallowed her inhibitions, the door was pushed open for her by a familiar face. The Log Lady.

“Are you just going to stand there or go inside?” she asked. Harriet hadn’t seen The Log Lady in the two years since she had left for college. She looked the same, always carrying that log in her arms and peering through her red specs with a confrontational stare. Although Harriet never knew her well, she had always liked her.

“Well, go on.” urged The Log Lady, snapping Harriet out of her daze.

“Uh, thank you…” said Harriet. For a moment, their eyes met, both hinting recognition.The Log Lady looked at her curiously, and they went their separate ways into the diner.

Immediately upon entering the diner, Harriet was brought back to the Twin Peaks she liked to remember. An aroma of delicious pies wafted through the air. The deep smell of dark roast coffee perfumed every corner. The diner was the pleasant same old, same old. It hadn’t changed much besides the fresh coat of paint here or there. The long countertop stretched around the center of the room and welcomed all patrons the relief of great food and friendly wait staff. It was the pride of the community. In fact, Norma’s diner was so important to Twin Peaks residents, Harriet thought it should have qualified for tax exemption. It seemed, for awhile, that Harriet had nothing to fear.

As she approached the counter, she was greeted by Shelly Johnson, a beautiful and plucky waitress who had worked there for years. Her long-standing friendship with Norma made her more than an employee at this point. People liked to say that if Norma had a will, Shelly would get the diner.

“Hey, there! Need time to look over a menu?”

“No thanks, I just wanted to get one—er, _two_ slices of cherry pie, please.” Harriet couldn’t resist giving herself a little treat. _When in Rome, as they say._ “And a small coffee.” She added.

“Alright, is that for here or to go?”

“To go please.”

“We’ll have that out for you real soon!” Shelly flashed her a smile. She was probably the only waitress Harriet had ever known who could genuinely smile while on the clock.

Maybe she was overreacting. The dream was just a coincidence and there wasn’t anything lurking in the darkness. Twin Peaks was okay. Her family was okay. _She_ was okay. Harriet didn’t need Donna to validate her existence. She wasn’t a child anymore. There is no boogeyman. Now, if that was all true, why did she still feel so anxious?

“Here you are! That will be seven dollars and sixty-three cents.” said Shelly, handing her a bag and a coffee cup. The only trouble was, it wasn’t Shelly. It looked like her, but it had the glinting orange eyes of an owl. Harriet’s worst fears came alive as quickly as they had seemingly been put to rest.

Her panicking eyes began to wander the room. Was anybody else seeing this? The diner was full, but many of the people were older and she didn’t know any of them that well. She was looking for Gersten, but didn’t see her. Just the Log Lady eating by herself, a kid she used to be friends with...and Mike Nelson? Donna’s old boyfriend? God, it seemed like wherever she went, reminders of her sister were everywhere. Could she not step two feet into this town without walking in Donna’s shadow? It was like Donna in the dream, stretching her arms into wings big enough to cover the entirety of Twin Peaks.

Startled, Harriet snatched the food from Shelly’s hands and threw some money on the counter. She was backing away towards the door.

“Are you okay?” asked Shelly, concerned. The owl eyes had disappeared, but Harriet wasn’t convinced.

“Thanks Shelly, I really should be leaving now…” Harriet’s shaky hand was on the door.

“You only gave me five dollars and a quarter...I still need two dollars and thirteen cents!” Shelly called to her.

At that point, Harriet had lost the grip on her coffee and spilled the hot liquid all over the floor and splashed it across her right leg, all over the gray tights she was wearing. The scalding hot liquid burned down her leg like she was within inches of fire.

“Oh my God!” Shelly’s hands flew over her mouth in shock. People were looking, all eyes on Harriet. The Log Lady, who had been repeatedly meeting her gaze in the diner, abruptly stood up from her seat and spit out the pitch she was chewing. Shelly was frantically gathering napkins and went back to the kitchen to find an ice pack.

Harriet was barely breathing, she was so disoriented. She ditched the coffee and her two dollars and thirteen cents and made a run for it out the door. By this time, dusk had begun to settle on the horizon and Harriet’s only concern was finding home before dark. Home today, and hopefully back to Seattle tomorrow. The floodgates opened and tears blurred Harriet’s vision as she struggled to catch her breath. Everything was much too overwhelming now. She knew she was being a coward, but she didn’t care. Running away had always worked out for her. It was the one thing she did better than any of the Haywards.

It was too far to turn back before Harriet realized that she left her bike at the diner. Walking would have to do. It wasn’t that long of a walk anyway, and at least she still had her pie. If she just got home and gave her mother the pie, she could pretend that this had never happened. But even home seemed unappealing now. What she really wanted was to be alone.

Then, only three blocks from her house, another shadow collided with Harriet under the descending darkness. She didn’t recognize Gersten until she had heard her voice. No matter her age, Gersten would always have the voice of a little girl.

“Harriet?” Gersten’s face looked more hollow than when Harriet had seen her last. She looked kind of scrappy, which was a stark deviation from the pristine look she was going for only a year ago. Next to her was a boy Harriet didn’t recognize. His hair was shaggy and he smelled like he had lived outside all his life. That was the nicest way to describe it.

“It’s me, Gersten.”

Her sister looked at her like she was far off in space. Fog in her eyes. Gone.

“Where have you been?” asked Harriet, “Mom and Dad said you’d be at the Double R.”

Gersten exchanged a sarcastic glance with the boy. She smiled. “Where have_ I_ been? _Me?_ I’ve been nowhere and have never looked back… ”

“You’re acting weird, Gersten.” Harriet shifted uncomfortably. “Are you ok? Do you want me to take you home?”

But Harriet already knew the answer. The boy had his arms wrapped around her waist, and Gersten stared up at her older sister contemptuously and yet not at all presently. She was touting a hazy kind of grudge that you usually keep to yourself, only baring itself in the vulnerability of drunkenness. Gersten hadn’t approached her to reunite as sisters. The very display sought to rebel against the Hayward namesake. The once-perfect daughters were unraveling.

“I’m not going home tonight.” said Gersten, shaking her head. “You can keep them company for awhile, I can’t stand being in that house.”

“What are you talking about?” It was an honest question. Selfishly, Harriet knew that her sister would tell her whatever her parents didn’t want her to know.

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t know.” sighed Gersten, “You know all they ever talk about is you and Donna? Like I might as well not even live there.” She chuckled callously. Just hearing the words escape her mouth, Harriet knew she was hurting. When Gersten had told her that she dropped out of school, she didn’t even think to follow up on how she was doing. And she felt guilty. All those phone calls to Donna and she had never even thought to remember her own duties as an older sister.

“It’s always Donna and Harriet, Donna and Harriet.” Gersten put a cigarette between her teeth and motioned to the boy for a light. “Mom and Dad can barely stand each other with you two gone. They were gonna get a divorce, but mom is sick again so I don’t know, maybe they’re putting it off.”

“You should be more careful with the things you say,” said Harriet, struggling to keep calm under the anger boiling within her core. “People talk in this town.”

“Do you think they haven’t already?” Gersten took a step towards her sister. “You haven’t _been_ here. You have no idea what’s going on or what I’ve been through.” She exhaled smoke, blowing it between Harriet’s eyes. “So quit acting like you do.”

Guilt crept over Harriet like it hadn’t before. She scolded herself for being so neglectful, so clueless. In her desperation to move on from Twin Peaks, she had left those she loved the most behind.

“You’ve changed,” was all Harriet could say. She refused to coddle her younger sister with that cigarette hanging stupidly in her mouth.

“Good.” said Gersten.

“I’m disappointed in you,” said Harriet coldly. It was the truth, but she regretted saying it as soon as the words escaped her lips.

Gersten rolled her eyes. “Go write a poem about it.” She wasn’t going to budge. The boy behind her fidgeted awkwardly with his lighter, trying to disappear from the tension of the two sisters.

“Well I’m going home,” Harriet lied. She had no idea where she was going, just that something was pulling her away. She didn’t know what yet.

“That’s a first.” Gersten threw her cigarette as Harriet began walking, leaving her sister to rot along with the brain-dead boy. “Go! Walk away from this fucking family, like you always do!” She called after her, slurring the end of the sentence. It was difficult for Harriet to worry about her sister when she made her so damn angry. They both had a talent for saying the wrong things.

“Give your boyfriend a bath!” Harriet waved, as night descended down over them.

When she was sure that her sister could no longer see her, Harriet began to run and run. Away from town, away from people, away from guilt and sadness. Away and away. Soon, nothing would remain but shadows and the cloaks of trees as she departed for the woods. It’s where she should have been all along, for the Ghostwood forest was a place full of owls. And she belonged amongst them.


	6. Turning Gold

Deeper and deeper...faster and faster...the woods beckoned for Harriet to come inside. The tree branches embraced around her and concealed the cruel light of the moon. The leaves wept over her and fell to the ground like tears. The only eyes that befell her were those of the owls, and she understood now, what the forest meant for the outsiders and runaways of Twin Peaks. Not just the wood itself, but the whole of its existence at night. The Dark Woods. The strange comfort that accompanied mysteries and the dark. She understood now. Baring one’s soul to be witnessed only by nature. Recognition of the self through the eyes of the other, the unknown. Harriet could only bring herself to stop once she was in the heart of it all: Glastonbury Grove. To stand there in awe. How simple. How beautiful. To see the woods by both the light of the sun and moon, finding peace between them. Pure poetry.

Twelve sycamores. A puddle of an unknown black tar-like substance. It was like a picture straight out of her dream. She was there in it. The living synergy of fear mixed with the love of this night. And these woods. This divine sin. Harriet wondered about those who danced in this same place. _How_ known was the unknown of Twin Peaks? Is this what Laura Palmer knew all those years ago? Isn’t this the place where that FBI agent went missing? The fear crept over Harriet once again. Would she live to tell of her discovery? And just then, she got her answer.

“Have you got _sap_ in your ears?” A voice cut through Harriet’s trance. “You shouldn't be here.”

“What’s in my ears?” Harriet turned to see the faint features of an older woman, the moonlight shining in the frames of her glasses and the ridges of her log. The Log Lady leaned over Harriet, peering at her inquisitively.

“You got that look in your eye… my Log knows it well.” She said, “It told me you would be here.” Harriet blinked, she glanced back at the circle of sycamores around the inky pool that smelled like burning oil. Vibrations moved in the air...it was like her dream except she knew she wasn’t dreaming. There was a magnetic heat surrounding the area...she felt strangely hypnotized…in another world…she heard the owls...they were saying a spell…

“It’s dangerous here at night…” said The Log Lady, grabbing hold of Harriet’s hand and carrying her log in the other, “Lucky for you, I know these woods well. Come with me.” The Log Lady tugged Harriet along, scowling back at the owls before trodding onward. For an elder woman, she certainly wasn’t the nurturing sweater-knitting type that Harriet had come to know. But she liked The Log Lady all the more for that reason.

“Don’t look into their eyes.”

“Who’s eyes?”

“The owls… they lie.”

The Log Lady’s hands felt cold and clammy. They weren’t the delicate hands of someone you might call “lady” but they were hers. It was rare to meet someone who was so unapologetically herself, and did as they pleased with no concern for what others thought. Harriet wished she was like that.

“Ms. Lanterman,” piped Harriet, remembering her manners, “I know we don’t know each other very well, but you might remember me. I’m one of the Hayward daughters. My sister was close to Laura Palmer.”

“Please, call me Margaret instead.”

“Oh… sorry.”

“And why put yourself behind a bunch of names, dear?” asked Margaret, an acute listener indeed. _“You’re_ quite memorable enough.” It was a compliment, but it sounded like Harriet was being scolded. Funny.

“So you _do_ remember me.”

“Yes, you write the lovely poems.”

Admittedly, Harriet was a bit frazzled to hear this from the mouth of the most memorable person in town. The lady who carried a _log_ for Pete’s sake. She remembered Harriet’s “lovely” poems. _How lovely! _

“So… what did your log tell you about me?” asked Harriet, genuinely not sure what was going on or where Margaret was taking her.

“You can ask it yourself,” huffed Margaret, stopping at a clearing and pointing up towards a cabin. “We’re going to my house, where we can discuss these matters in private.”

Harriet stared up at the comfortable and warm-looking cabin in the middle of the darkness. It had a glow around it, like the burning cabin in her dream.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“I guessed that.”

The cabin was on a hill. It took a few minutes for them to walk the steps together, and in all that time Margaret never let go of Harriet’s hand. It almost made her more nervous, like perhaps Margaret could see things that were invisible to most people. The only discernible thing about the woman was where she got her exercise from.

Once they were atop the hill, Margaret fished a key from her sock and unlocked the door. Harriet instantly felt right at home with the various DIY rugs and wooden furniture that filled the rooms. She too, enjoyed surrounding herself with the fruits of her labor. It was the one miniature bright spot in the lushly dark forest. The wood looked like gold, and it smelled freshly of pine and vanilla. Margaret seemed to keep the house very tidy and clean up after herself. While it was a little clunky and tight, it had that fairytale appeal to it. Although Margaret seemed less the type to make pies for weary travelers and more the type to eat all the pies for herself.

“Sit.” said Margaret, “I’ll get us some tea.”

Harriet found a spot on a thick oak rocking chair that looked like it was from the 70’s. She made herself at home, relieved to be anywhere but her own house.

“I only have chamomile right now. You’ll have to drink that.” Margaret called from her small kitchen area. For a few minutes, all Harriet could hear was the clanging of cabinets and porcelain wares until there was the shrieking of a teapot on the stove. Harriet smiled in spite of all the racket. She may have been the guest, but this was _Margaret’s_ house.

Harriet was handed her tea in a fine little porcelain cup and dish set. She didn’t want to drink it for fear that she’d break the expensive-looking china, and she didn’t want an incident on her hands like the one earlier today. Hot liquids had just become a new phobia of hers, and she remembered Margaret being there at the diner, spitting out that pitch gum she always chewed.

Margaret sat on a lush red armchair facing across Harriet. She set her tea down on the coffee table next to it and hugged her log with both arms. This woman, who never showed outward vulnerability, looked anxious.

“Harriet,” she said, her eyes focused and clear between her red frames. “I remembered you from when you used to live here a few years ago. You and your sisters. However, I have not told you the whole truth and that would be dishonest.”

Harriet set her tea down and leaned forward in her seat. Although she didn’t know a lot about Margaret personally, she remembered her father telling her about how her husband had died on their wedding night long ago, and how she carried her Log ever since. Like Harriet’s mother, Margaret never took a liking to pity, so she made it impossible for people to pity her.

“When I was a little girl,” she began, “I was abducted in the woods during a nature walk. And I don’t remember what happened, just that I felt lost and alone…like I was in my own mind inside a dream.”

Harriet nodded slowly, making sure she listened and understood. She wasn’t sure if anyone ever took Margaret as seriously as her words demanded. No one chose their words more carefully than she did, and her messages came with the gravity of a force much greater than herself.

“In that state, I saw the faintest glimpse of the largest owl I’ve ever seen, curling its claws around a burning wooden shed, and I saw a blue light before coming back down to earth…” Margaret’s hands shook as she motioned them downward to simulate her return from the great unknown, and her green eyes glistened as she held back the emotions, her lips quivering as she recalled the traumatic event of her childhood. “And then, in that shed window, someone who looked like you, trying to help me.” She said quietly, sharing the words like a secret.

Harriet was speechless. It was her dream. In her dream, she saw a lost little girl by Glastonbury Grove. The burning cabin. The owl. Could it be? All this time The Log Lady had been holding onto this vision since what, the 40’s? It defied logic, everything she knew about silly little dreams.

For a moment, Margaret and Harriet shared no words between them. Awed silence was the only thing that escaped Harriet’s lips. Then, Margaret leaned forward, her hands outstretched for Harriet to feel the Log.

“Can you hear it?” Margaret whispered softly. Harriet looked into the older woman’s eyes, which were anxious with longing. Glinting with hope.

In her life, Harriet had a tendency to stumble into things. From the time when Donna was still home, and Laura had just disappeared, she remembered Donna explaining this strange feeling of harmony she had. Laura was gone, but her disappearance had brought her and their friend James closer together. She had described it as a beautiful dream and a terrible nightmare, and between those two things, a state of peace and acceptance. Not without hardship, but a newfound understanding that sometimes...a wind can blow that causes all the broken pieces to fall into place. There are times when it feels as though the intangible concept of Fate can be held in your arms. Thus, when Harriet touched Margaret’s Log and heard the echoes of her own poetry back to her, a gust of wind rustled through the trees that was felt by every person in Twin Peaks that night.

_Receive the message:_

_Remember_

_The full blossom of the evening_

_blooms in time when_

_shrouded in dark soil_

_nurtured with rain_

_and warmed by the morning sun_

“I hear it…I—I hear it.”

Margaret was still looking at their hands, together, on the Log. She looked amazed, youthful and excited like Harriet had never seen her look before. She just smiled. Margaret never smiled with her teeth, but she had the biggest widest smile forming across her face. She just nodded slowly, looking at the new friend she had made in Harriet.

“I know.” She said, finally. “Me too.”

“What do you think it means?”

“It is not our place to interpret the Log,” said Margaret, “Only to receive and share its message.”

Even stating this serious fact about the Log, Margaret could only keep her face a mere second away from showing how relieved she really felt. Harriet knew it too. Two victims of these cursed woods had found each other. And they spent the rest of the night talking and drinking their tea, growing fond of each other in spite of the evil that lurked outside the walls of the cabin.

“It takes a brave person to communicate with these woods,” said Margaret, refilling their cups later that evening.

“But I wasn’t being brave,” Harriet shook her head, unable to meet Margaret’s eyes,“I was running away.”

“From where?”

“Home.”

There was an unspoken understanding of what the word ‘home’ really meant as it pertained to Harriet. It was known by Margaret, who had lost her home long ago and knew that sadness ever since. She spoke softly again, as the keeper of secret knowledge and all that happened in the forest.

“The wood loves those who run away.” She said, “You can embrace it, or you can let it eat you alive.”

“Is that what it was doing when you saw me there?”

“Yes,” said Margaret, leaning in closer, “It’s a dance.”

The memory of how she ended up in Glastonbury Grove was hazy for Harriet. It was a kind of vibration, a pull, a jazz that seemed to possess her entire body. It was like becoming a puppet, pulled around on strings until you felt like you could just sink into the black tar pit and never come to the surface. It would be freeing, and before you know it, you’re stuck there in the black with no escape.

“It was like it was _pulling_ me,” Harriet put her hands on her chest, feeling her heartbeat. “I felt like I should stay. Here. In Twin Peaks.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Why do you stay?” asked Harriet, blurting the question but wanting to know honestly. “Isn’t it too hard? After what happened to you?”

A loud wind blew at the door of the house just then. Like the cold from the woods was knocking to come inside.

“I’m sorry, that’s too personal.” She recanted, “You don’t have to answer that.”

Margaret shook her head in protest. “No, no.” She held tightly to her Log. “I’m just listening. And thinking.”

Harriet felt embarrassed to have asked that, but she liked Margaret, who was so busy thinking about the things around her, that it seemed she was left without time to think of herself. If she was the only person who knew the secrets of the woods, Harriet was becoming the only person to know the secrets of Margaret, the most fascinating person in Twin Peaks.

“I’ve known these woods… all my life,” she said, caressing the Log, “And I feel a sense of responsibility to the nature of the forest, this town and these people, so that they don’t forget what happens here.” She nodded, believing every word she said, “Because I have **_never_** forgotten.”

“Harriet,” Margaret continued, “I am so glad to know you, to know there are people _like_ you.”

“Don’t you feel lonely?”

“No.”

Harriet saw the forest as a kind of trap, trapping Margaret Lanterman within its walls. Why she would ever choose to stay here, marginally happy but surrounded by things that scared her… Harriet just didn’t understand. But maybe that’s why she had to stay. There’s only one Log Lady, and the forest was as much her kingdom as she was its prisoner.

“Things are still falling apart at home,” sighed Harriet, “I know I should go back and make things less miserable."

“Yes, things fall apart,” echoed Margaret, deeply empathizing. “But not everything is your fault.”

“I know that.”

“But do you feel it?”

Harriet hesitated.

“I guess not.”

“You can do something with that,” said Margaret, “Be aware of what you can change.”

It sounded so simple when she said it like that. The weight of the world lifted with nothing more than Margaret’s hand on Harriet’s shoulder.

“Okay,” said Harriet. “And when I leave here, something will change, whatever that is.”

At that point, Margaret turned her head back towards the kitchen, checking the time on a wooden cuckoo clock. Meanwhile, the wind was dying down outside.

“It’s almost dawn, and I don’t want your parents to worry.” She said, looking disappointed in the passage of time and in Harriet’s inevitable departure.

“Oh, you’re right.” agreed Harriet. “My mom has been expecting Double R cherry pie from me since last night! I can’t remember where I put the bag.”

Margaret considered something for a moment. “This isn’t goodbye,” she said, “I'll come by and bring you a Double R pie later.”

“Really?”

“After taking a few pieces.”

“Of course.”

As darkness began to subside and the bluebirds returned, Harriet readied herself for the trek home, ready to take a much brighter path than the one from the night previous. She would now be able to say that she had walked in both.

“Do say ‘hello’ to Deputy Hawk for me if you see him today,” Margaret waved as Harriet started down the hill, “He has yet to return my invitation for afternoon milk and cookies.”

Before Harriet could get too far, Margaret caught up with her and handed her a small, rough piece of Douglas fir bark and closed it in the palm of her hand.

“A piece from my Log.” She said. Harriet grasped it tightly in her palm, feeling the warmth emanating from it. A home away from home. A token of friendship and of new beginnings. A miniature light in the dark woods.

“I’m honored…” Harriet said in awe, squeezing the piece. “I love it...thank you so much.”

The two friends embraced on the steps, and Harriet threw her arms over Margaret and smelled her maple-scented sweater as they lingered there in the open woods. Margaret, who didn’t need anyone but needed to feel less alone, waited for Harriet to break the hug before saying, “Listen to it from time to time.”

“What kinds of things does it say?”

“The truth.”

With that, Harriet disappeared back into the forest, the sun idling on the horizon. If she saw an owl, she wasn’t afraid anymore. She walked on the edge of the path, with the leaves and the wind blowing through her short, curly hair. There was still an underlying fear of what her family would do, what they would become. But she had freed herself from the guilt and hiked forward, ready to embrace the uncertainty of the future. Because sometimes the wind blows and the curtain falls on a mystery. This is clear to all of those who dance with the dark woods and feel its vibrations in the breeze.

The magic qualities of the Log are a much different matter. To this day, its powers are entrusted to only three individuals. The nature of those powers remain unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have stuck through my first Twin Peaks fanfic! I know it was kind of all over the place, but I got to explore characters that I really love who don't get enough credit. I love the Haywards and I love Margaret, of course. It was fun to do while I watched some other Lynch films and read his book, Room to Dream. Lots of inspiration there! Same with The Final Dossier, which was a huge help. This was a piece done for tumblr user dye-ann (AKA Beatrice_Sank on ao3) as a part of countdowntotwinpeaks's WONDERFULXSTRANGE on September 3, 2019 to celebrate the anniversary of when The Return collectively shattered our hearts. This was my first time doing it as a huge Twin Peaks fan and I enjoyed it immensely! It feels wonderful to create something! Anyway, leave a comment or kudos if you feel so inclined. Tell me what you liked about it! I love you, Twin Peaks community!
> 
> And I hope you enjoyed the story, dye-ann! It was an honor to create for you, as I very much admire your pieces. Have a lovely Twin Peaks day :)


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